Choleric
by acunningstunt
Summary: A CraigTweek fic. A study of the development of their relationship...budding romance? Hopefully will be multichaptered and have a specific plot later on...
1. Chapter 1

Choleric

'Choloric' (Chapter one)

Author's Note: Hopefully a multi-chaptered fic. I've already got a vague second chapter, but it remains to be seen if I'll continue with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, which is probably for the best.

_(Tweek's P.O.V)_

I'm standing amongst a crowd of people in the school hallway, Clyde and Token on either side of me, all of us watching the scene taking place a few feet ahead of us - or what could be considered a 'safe' distance, considering the circumstances. Nothing particularly exceptional is going on, but a fight is a fight, and, being under-stimulated and easily-excitable teens, it's interesting enough to be a spectator sport.

Craig is, as far as I can tell, beating the shit out of Eric Cartman. Like I said, this is not a particularly surprising event _per se_, but the force at which he's throwing punches in to the other boy's face (which is, I might note, wobbling enough to create tremors across the ground), whilst forcing him against a locker, is _unnerving_ – although obviously, my view on what qualifies as 'unnerving' is different from most people's.

I don't know what Cartman has done – aside from being his usual, asshole self – to incur Craig's wrath, but Craig's more riled-up then I've _ever_ seen him when he's been fighting - which has been, well, every week since he turned 13 at least. I remembered how scared _I'd_ been when his fists were flying in _my_ face back in third grade, and it's almost enough to make me pity Cartman..._almost_.

"You motherfucker! You fucking Dick!" He's yelling at fat-boy. "Take back what you fucking said!"

"Ay! Ay! Get off of me you fucking psycho!" is Cartman's response. As usual, he's trying to act tough, but I can tell he's shitting himself.

Suddenly, the audience is parted; a teacher has finally noticed what's going on, and performs their duty as order-enforcer by grabbing Craig by the shoulders and dragging him away from his much-relieved target. "Just what is going on?" Mr. Boyd demands.

"I don't know what to tell you, sir" says Cartman in his infamous 'innocent' voice (he's obviously felt it safe to resume his role as a calculating smart ass), "Craig seems to be, well, _clinically insane_..."

"What! Shut the fuck up!" yells Craig. He's straining against Mr. Boyd's grip, but not hard enough to completely break free and resume punching Cartman in the face - although I know he would have if he wasn't currently under threat of expulsion.

"Craig, I think you need to come with me to the counsellor's office right away" Boyd states in his usual, controlled manner. "No!" Craig spits. "He deserved it! He fucking deserved it!".

But Boyd is already dragging him away by the arm. He remains in view just long enough to glance back at Cartman and, rather reluctantly I suspect, ask him if he needs to see the school nurse.

Cartman replies that he "might well indeed, Mr. Boyd". His nose _is _bleeding a little, and he _is_ sporting quite a shiner, it has to be said, so maybe he's not entirely saying it to get Craig in more trouble.

"Guys! W-what happened!" I finally get to ask without fear of being told to just-shut-up-and-watch-Cartman-suffer.

"Cartman said something implying that Craig's queer." Token replies. He doesn't sound that interested, to be honest. "O-oh.." I stammer. "Isn't that just regular for him?! He rips on Kyle worse than that all the time, and they're _friends._..kind of.."

I look over at Kyle now, who was also watching the fight - along with Stan and Kenny - but didn't, of course, make any attempt to stop it. None of the three look particularly perturbed, or offer to go with Cartman to the nurse's office. In fact, Kyle looks pretty damn happy about the whole thing.

"Mmm" shrugs Token. "I think Craig's a bit insecure." pipes up Clyde, in the voice he uses when he feels he's being profound and insightful. "...I think Cartman deserves to get his ass-kicked anyway." says Token.

People are already heading off to their respective classes, as the bell rang a few moments ago. I continue to stand there for a bit though, still pondering the event. I'm actually quite worried about Craig, and that's probably why my twitching is in hyper-drive at the moment.

Craig can get so angry, so often, it can be scary. _Especially_ for me. I thank God that, apart from in _our_ fight (which _was_ set-up by the others, it must be noted), he's never acted mad at me.

Sure, he's been a spiteful bastard at times, and doesn't hesitate to tell me if I'm acting "spastic" (which I _can't _help!), but he hasn't so much as flipped me off since we reconciled all those years ago. I don't know whether I should feel honoured by this modest politeness or not.

I'm sitting in chemistry class when he finally returns from what I can only presume was a severe 'talking-to'. I think the only reason he wasn't sent home was because he beat-up _Eric Cartman_, rather than some _nice, none-offensive_ kid.

He sits down at the desk next to mine, not looking at anyone. He has an award-worthy scowl on his face, and he pointedly ignores the glances he's receiving from the rest of the class.

"H-hey!", whispers Butters, swivelling slightly in his chair to smile timidly at Craig. "You su-sure showed Eric back there!".

"Shut up." is Craig's muttered response, at which Butters whips around to face the teacher again, looking more terrified than ever. I think he's scared of Craig beating _him_ up too.

_I'm_ kind of scared of Craig at the moment, but that doesn't stop me tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He turns his head to face me, not saying anything. "Are you O.K?" I ask, my eye twitching despite myself.

"I'll live." he says. It's not in an angry way, more sort of quiet..._melancholy_?

"Alright class, we're going to be doing a practical today" comes Ms. Fletcher's deep, toneless voice before I can respond. She really reminds me of that teacher we had, Ms Chokesondik. The one we thought we _murdered_. God! The '_Sea-men' _misunderstanding! I don't know whether the memory of that whole incident makes me want to laugh or cry.

All I know is that it _sucked_ being Stan, Kyle and Cartman's 'replacement Kenny' for those couple of months. What, with one of the group being an over-weight fascist and the other two...well, hardly being very kind to me most of the time, probably being too wrapped up in each other's company to care for a third party who _doesn't _just stand around calmly in a zipped-up parka, not objecting to whatever it is they do...

I think I prefer being in Craig's gang a lot more. I don't feel like such an outcast with them, and it's only Craig who really gets in to any trouble, so _no_ _pressure_. Also, it's nice not being the 'stupid' one, I think that position is taken by Clyde this time. The amount of times Craig's told him to _shut-the-fuck-up and LISTEN to himself _when he's tried to be a smart ass with me.

Craig's looking at me now, quizzically. I realize that I've probably been staring ahead of myself with my mouth open for a considerable length of time. "Don't worry about the experiment." He whispers, "I'll be your lab partner if you want."

I finally realize what he's talking about... Agh! Jesus! Chemistry experiments! Chemistry Experiments equal the possibility of getting my hand melted away by sulphuric acid...or worse, a vial of the stuff landing _on my lap_. "Thanks!" I squeak.

I think he could read my thoughts just then, because he's sort of smiling, and I feel quite good that I've managed to make him do that, despite the mood he's in. I guess my excessive paranoia has some benefits.


	2. Chapter 2

Choleric (Chapter 2)

I'm sat astride a horse. Well, it's not a real horse; it's actually a sort of squat, plasticy thing, attached to a rusty spring, which supposedly _resembles_ a horse.

We (being Craig and I) snuck in to the South Park elementary playground after-hours, 'for old time's sake'. It's had a revamp since we left for high school; hence the introduction of the horse thing.

I watch Craig as he hangs off the monkey bars. He's pretty strong, I think. Although with the amount of fighting he does I'm not surprised. He works his way to the end of them with ease, lifting his knees up so he's not touching the floor – a reminder that we're not eight years old anymore. The serious expression on his face as he does this would be quite funny had I not got other things on my mind.

I'm very aware that he's still in a dark mood – most people assume that he's just pissed-off, but I know that this is actually Craig _miserable_. I think that's why he wanted to come here, maybe to reflect on things in a 'comforting' environment.

I don't really know. You can never be certain with Craig, and I think he likes it that way.

I think that's why he's never had a proper girlfriend. He's the epitome of the moody alpha-male. Getting Craig to talk about his 'feelings' would be like getting blood out of a stone. It just wouldn't happen.

He's had 'relations' with girls, sure. He's had _sex_ with girls. But he's just never called them afterwards. I'm his polar opposite in so many ways.

I've had sex with _one_ girl. I don't think that's shameful for a 16 year old, despite what some would make out. And I _know_ that many guys in our year _haven't_ done it yet. Eric Cartman, for instance... Butters. I don't really want to speculate about all of them to be honest.

Anyway, this girl I was 'with'...our relationship lasted 6 months. And almost every second of it was awkward beyond belief. She thought my high-strung nerves were 'cute', at first. But there's only so long you can be with someone who is in a state of perpetual anxiety before it wears you down.

I called her a lot, because I thought it was the 'appropriate' thing to do – I remember that I spent the whole of our first time worrying that I was 'taking advantage', despite the fact that it was _she_ who came onto _me. _Relationships with girls are _too much pressure_.

Craig really is very attractive. That's why girls bother with him; it sure isn't his _courtesy_ and 'romantic' nature that entices them. I'm sort of staring at the way his shirt is riding up when he's hanging off the bars, hipbones prominent above his low slung jeans.

When he turns to face me I nearly jump out my skin. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be aware that I was just sizing up his physique. I'm not sure what his reaction would be to that, although it would probably involve the bird being flipped.

"Hey Tweek, c'mere." he says. I nod, sharply. He has this effect on me. He exacerbates my nervousness with his unpredictability and violent tendencies, but soothes me at the same time. I always feel like Craig will _protect_ me, gay as that sounds.

When I was younger, and had issues with those _gnomes_, the only time I got decent sleep was on those few occasions when Craig, Token and Clyde had stayed over at mine. This was usually after we'd spent half the night playing video games – an activity that nearly always involved Craig hitting Clyde upside the head with his controller at some point. I remember how Craig would always be the one to sleep next to my bed. That was kind of strange, when I think about it, but it was comforting at the time.

As I approach him he jumps down from the bars, and I choke back a surprised yelp. He flexes his hands to get feeling back into them.

"Tweek" he says, still staring down at his reddened palms. "Do you remember how we used to throw rocks at cars off of the hill side?"

Oh, yeah...when THEY used to throw rocks and I was occasionally obliged to tag along. They hit my dad's car once, which had caused me to roll down the hill in a panic attack. It was actually Butters who'd thrown the rock that time, and Craig had slapped him afterwards.

"Yes..." I say, twitching, distinctly aware that I'm not going to like what's coming.

"I think we should go do that now." he states.

Craig must be on some kind of nostalgia trip here, and when I reply with an "Argh! Is that such a good idea?!" he looks at me with such sadness in his eyes that I have no choice but to consent.

So now we're on the hill next to the main road, Craig armed with an impressive pile of rocks that he'd collected along the way. The first car materializes in the distance, so Craig grabs one of the smaller ones (you work your way towards the big fuckers, is the rule) and stands at the ready. When the car is a few yards away, he hurls it at the roof top.

I'm glad he's compassionate enough not to aim for the windshield, which is what Pip did once when Cartman said that he "can't throw for shit, 'cause he's French".

We duck down as the driver whips around in his seat to locate the source of the damage. He slows down enough to wind down his window and yell "God Damn kids!" in to the semi-darkness. The adults here are aware of the 'throw rocks at passing cars' game, they just haven't had the initiative to put an end to it yet.

Craig and I both snigger.

"What a douche..." Craig mutters, and hands me a rock. I accept it and prepare myself for my designated crime.

"Tweek, Tweek, man...listen" Craig hisses – I'm not sure why, because there's no one else here (I hope...Gah!).

"You have to focus, remember...not like that time when you spazzed out and cracked that windshield."

Oh yes. I forgot. It wasn't _just_ Pip.

"Gah! I _know_ what I'm doing!" I hiss back.

Just then, a set of front lights comes in to view. I'm twitching like crazy, gnawing at my bottom lip as I track my target's progress. I can _feel_ Craig smirking. All too suddenly it's right in front of me. I let out a yelp and fling the rock blindly.

CRACK.

There's a screech of tires and the car draws to a halt, a grand total of, ooh, ten feet away from us perhaps. Oh Jesus!

I stare at Craig, whose expression is almost as horrified as I _know_ mine is. "Fuck!" He exclaims. He grabs me by the hand and drags me up and over the hill with him.

We trip over and roll down the slope at the other side, landing in a heap in the ditch at the bottom. By _heap,_ I mean that I'm directly on top of Craig, knee in between his legs, with my hands at either side of his head.

I can hear a strongly defined voice coming from over where the car was.

"You better fucking show yourself" it says, menacingly, in a deep southern accent.

My first instinct is to run for my fucking life, but Craig seems to have predicted my intention and clutches me to him with one hand on my shoulder. He uses his other hand to press a finger to his lips.

I can feel my body convulsing with panic, but I look in to his eyes and he's gazing at me intently, _willing_ me to trust him. I know that he's right; if we were to try and make a dash for it now, there would be a whole fucking hedge to negotiate our way through. Then there's a very open field (nicely lit-up by the light of a full moon), which would be the ideal environment for locating and shooting somebody in, if you happened to have a gun, which I am seriously guessing this guy does.

The man's silhouette has appeared at the top of the hill.

"_You better come the fuck out now!_" I can make out a rancher's hat on his head, and what I think _might be_ a shotgun in his hand.

JESUS CHRIST. Tears are leaking out my eyes. Craig presses my face in to the crook of his neck, holding me tightly. I swear we're going to die, I really do.

The sound of feet scuffling on the grass; only a matter of time before...

"_Fucking pansy fags! Too afraid to show yourselves?? Well let this be a warning to you. Don't ever fuck around again here! I'll fucking hunt you down and shoot your sorry asses next time, ya hear me?!__"_

..._Next_ time? Oh God!... He's going! We're safe! I swear I hear Craig breathe a sigh of relief.

We remain stock-still in the same position until we hear a car door slam shut and an engine rev up. Only then does Craig release his tight grip on my back.

I pull my head away from his neck, slowly. I'm torn between feeling relieved to the extent of maybe performing some sort of manic dance routine, and feeling...well... pretty embarrassed.

Craig rubs the back of his neck, but remains otherwise motionless. Finally, he speaks.

"That was pretty fucked-up, huh?"

"Gah! I'm never playing 'throw rocks at cars' again!" I squeak, staring at him through wide eyes.

He starts laughing then, and, after a few moments, I do too. For some reason the whole event has become hysterical. I think near-death experiences require some sort of humorous perspective for you to be able to cope with them.

When we finally quieten down, I become aware that I'm still sort of _straddling_ Craig.

Well, his right leg anyway, with one of my knees in between his thighs... which could actually be looked upon as _more_ intimate than 'regular' straddling...

Ugh! What the hell am I thinking about?!

I scramble off of him immediately. He sits up then, kind of slowly. If I didn't know better I'd swear he had a look of disappointment on his face.

And that's crazy, of course, because Craig is not the type to appreciate other guys straddling his right leg, or any part of his body for that matter; he said as much to Cartman earlier today.

"We should go home." I state.

"Yeah." Craig concedes. We get up and dust ourselves off.

"Dude, I'm really sorry that I almost got us killed just then." He says.

"What?! It was my fault! I just can't control my reflexes sometimes!"

"And _that's_ one of the things I love about you..." he says, grinning, before immediately turning serious again.

"...Yeah." he continues. "We should definitely go home now."

"Yes!"

So we walk back in to town together; mostly in silence. When we arrive outside my door, I turn to face Craig, who is sort of standing there, fidgeting.

"Hey Tweek..." he finally ventures.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for hanging with me today. I was feeling... really fucking pissed-off earlier."

"Hah!" I respond, in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice. "Well! At least we now know that there are bigger assholes out there than Eric Cartman!"

His expression goes blank at that comment. "Yeah...well Tweeks, man. I guess I better hit the road now." He says, already turning around to walk off.

"Ah! O.K.! Err...guess I'll see you tomorrow then!"

"Yeah..."

He starts walking, then sort of semi-turns around to face me again. "Oh and

Tweek..."

"Yeah?!" Oh Jesus...why is my voice changing in to that if a pre-teen girl?

"You really are a spazz."

And with that he winks at me, and then walks off up the driveway and in to the night.

...Damn.


End file.
